When Jacob saw them, 32:2
by Quite Silent
Summary: He knew her as his angel, his savior. She would retrieve for him justice and the peace of deliverance. She had so many other times, but now She was failing him clipping her own wings. What happens when a man's Angel decieves him?
1. Red Magic Marker all over my face

Disclaimer: I do not own these Characters and I do not claim to. They are the property of Chris Carter and Fox. End of story. Also these lyrics are not mine. They belong to one Amanda Marshall.

Loud and startling it came to her ears, tearing in to their peace and sending her eyes flying open. The sound blared from a speaker conveniently placed two inches from her face as she lay sprawled halfway cross her scattered sheets. Covering the ear that was not pressed against the hard mattress with a pillow she slammed her eyes shut once more, her small hand walking over the oak nightstand in search of her alarm clock. Finding it she pried her eyes open and stared at the thick red numbers that flashed across the screen. 4:45. Damnit. She stood stretching, her eyes locked onto the speaker, her mind silently damning it to the depths of hell. Undoubtedly Mulder's work. He always fiddled with her things. He must have changed the alarm to radio instead of its usually blaring pattern of mocking bursts. Shaking the fatigue of sleep from her head she didn't bother to change the station or turn it off. She hadn't listened to the radio in a while, her usual music being that of classical composers. It was a nice break. Stepping into her bathroom she undressed and stretched once more, her eyes meeting themselves in the mirror that sat on the wall before her. Suddenly from the other room the song changed from a loud males voice that seemed to rough and raspy for the singer to be healthy to a soft females voice.

"_Where are you living? What planet do you come from? Is there T.V., e-mail or a telephone line? Do you have friends? Or family to warn you when there's trouble? Cause up to now your deaf dumb and blind. This is my line in the sand, this is my last open hand. Can't you read? Cause its written all over my face, it says I love you…"_

Her cheeks immediately reddened as her thoughts seemed to fly to Mulder, the red blossoms spreading down her neck.

"_It's in Red magic marker."_

Her eyes widened and she rubbed at her cheeks with the cold palms of her hands. Shaking her head she climbed into the shower and turned the water on hard enough to drown out the rest of the song.

* * *

On her way to work she found herself humming the tune of the song, her thoughts in other places. One very prominent place being that of Fox Mulder; ever since she had heard the song that morning she couldn't keep him from slipping into her thoughts some how. She would think about her mother and comeback around to him, about buying new shoes and find herself wondering if what kind he would like. Did she really feel that way about him? This question alone occupied her mind the rest of the way, her thoughts so concentrated on it that she hadn't realized that she had already arrived at the J. Edger Hoover building and was currently riding the elevator down to the basement. Reaching the office door behind which she was sure her partner already sat she took a moment to assess the situation and her feelings. Her eyes followed and carved into the name plate that was plastered to the door. Fox Mulder. Upon thinking the name for the fifty-umpth time that morning she took in a deep breath and turned the golden door handle. 

Sitting with his back to herrested her partner, obviously concentrating on something. She studied his back, the strong muscles that pressed against his shirt as he hunched over, the muscles that had carried her away from disaster; that had held her tight and calmed her on so many occasions she could not distinguish them all. Above him loomed his poster. The words appealing to her in a different sense at the moment; "I want to believe." Suddenly she felt the heat of his gaze on her face and blinked the images that had flooded her mind away.

"Scully?" his eyes flowed about her frame as he looked her over. "Are you alright?" She felt a blush begin to crawl up her neck. Grabbing her suits collar closed around her reddening neck with one hand she waved him off with the other. "Yea, Mulder I'm fine." She hurriedly made her way to her chair that set adjacent to his cluttered desk, her posture and position barely noticeably uncomfortable. Of course he picked up on it immediately. "Are you sure?"

"YES MULDER, I'm sure."

"Looks like someone fell out of the wrong side of the bed…several times."

"I wouldn't have if you hadn't have toyed with my alarm"_ and made me think of you all morning. Shut up. _

"Just trying to add some spice to your life my dear Scully." On that note he turned around and continued his work. Sighing she put a hand to her forehead, her elbow resting on the desk. _Can't you read? Cause its written all over my face, it says…SHUT UP….Shut up is precisely what it says now stop thinking about it Scully. _Abruptly she stood, deciding she didn't want to bother with this at the moment and would distract herself with a cup of coffee. "I'm going to get coffee you want some?" He grunted and nodded still in an obvious state of extreme concentration. Turning her back to him she stepped from the room, her heels clicking on the hard linoleum floor. _He must be working on something important. _She concluded to herself, almost forgetting the coffee all together. Stepping up to the brewer her mind still lingered on him.

Absently grabbing for a cup and finally feeling one in her grasp she lifted it to the pot. Her eyes trailed the length of her hand, his strong grip replacing her own as she stared at it, at his strong, long fingers. Their slight roughness masculine in the way of proving his heroisms towards her enemies and all else he had conquered. Did her own belong in their comfort? Her eyes glittered with the thought, his hands smothering her own in his embrace, the smell of him as he would hug her to his chest, shielding her from danger. Could she possibly feel this way toward him? Truly? Was she really in lo-

Her thoughts were cut off as the scolding coffee missed the ceramic cup entirely and splashed against her legs as it hit the floor, the sudden burning of it reaching her brain as she realized the sharp pain that took to the fingers of her left hand. 'Shit!" she dropped the cup to the floor, its shards flung under the counter and over the now coffee tanned floor. She felt all of the eyes in the room shoot to her face, the red of her embarrassment rising to her cheeks for what seemed like the eightieth time that day. Immediately whispers began to sound through the room, eyes falling from her to those of the other occupants of the room. She picked up the shards, not bothering with cleaning up the spilt coffee and went, in a quick stride, straight back to Mulder's office.

Upon returning she was greeted with an odd glare in her direction from her partner. "Uhh Scully..wheres the coffee?"

"Forget it." she sighed, sliding once again into her chair, her mind tossing and turning.

* * *

The rest of the day seemed to creep by slowly; Mulder's back turned to her almost the entirety of the day.Finally he turned to her, his gaze landing on her face. She seemed to be in a daze, a dream. He watched her expressions as they flashed across her face, first deep thought then a sort of confusion. Suddenly her hand moved to her lips, her forefinger resting on her upper lip, bending slightly over the curve of it, the others following close behind as though in a loose fist. Her thumb sat tucked neatly under her chin. She raised an eyebrow to herself as her hand remained, then a light blush spreading across her once pale cheeks. "Uh Scully?" she looked up, eyebrow still raised, blush rising. "Umm." She cleared her throat.

"Yes Mulder?"

"I believe it is time for us to hit the road."

"Huh?"

"Its time to leave. The work days over, go home, catch the train, Hail a ca-"

"I get the point Mulder." She snapped at him, only making his amusement ignite further. She stood and stretched her legs, pops sounding from the joint disuse. "What were you working on anyway?"

"Oh just a recent case, the usually stuff; ghosts, goblins, vampires and all that jazz." He smiled sheepily at her.

Her heart fluttered. She had thought about him the whole day and had finally come to a decision about her feelings. Walking towards him she stood, tiptoed in her high heels and planted a quick and light kiss on his cheek, immediately turning around and walking from him, taking her coat from its stand and leaving the room. If she wouldn't have been too embarrassed and pleased with her actions to look back she would have seen his look of tender, invigorated confusion.

A/n: this is my first X-files fanfic so please, be harsh, but not rude. I would very much like to know what I may improve upon without being offended. Thank you for reading and more is to come!


	2. Hyperdermic Sympathy

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are owned by Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen productions.

He sighed and watched carefully as the breathe puffed into the air. His thoughts were ablaze with her. She had seemed odd the entire day, though it wasn't that odd for Scully to have her weird moments. But this had been a different kind of odd. And then she had kissed him. He felt bad now, thinking of the lie he had told her just before hand. The case he had been so attached to during the day was not his usual oddity. It was more serious. He had been asked, behind Scully's back, to help improve upon the profile of a man she had helped put away years ago. He had at first refused until he had been informed that the man was out of prison on a rampage, the ignition to his storm was rumored to be Scully herself. He shouldn't have left Scully leave by herself but he was too confused to stop her.

It was common for them to exchange comforts, usually an embrace or a soft kiss on the forehead…but only when there was reason. She had kissed him on a whim today and had confused the hell out of him, her actions the whole day confusing as well. It had been easy to tell she had her mind full. Looking at his watch he began to walk quickly through the parking garage of the J Edger Hoover building. From here he was going to go home and work on the profile, for Scully's sake. He wanted it finished and the bastard caught as soon as possible. Sighing once more he stepped into his car and pulled out of the driveway, eyes closely watching his every movement.

**_Tuesday, December 12_**

**_J. Edger Hoover building_**

He sat watching the clock, its thin black hands turning rhythmically in a beating pattern. Damn it, Scully was an hour and forty five minutes late. Thrusting his hands into his desk and down from the head that they had cradled he stood and stormed out of the office and straight to that of Assistant Director Skinner. Slamming past Skinner's secretary and into is office Mulder quickly blurted out the reasons of his foul entrance. Weaved in between the worrying hollers and curses he managed to get his point across. Skinner sat quietly, eyes intent on Mulder's gaze. As he finished Skinner couldn't help but smiled and roll his eyes at this man's concern for his partner. See Mulder's reaction to this he immediately shoved the smile aside. "Mulder, she's fine."

"There's a goddamned killer on the loose after her and she's two hours late to work and your going to sit here and say she's fine?"

"Mulder, I know where she is."

"What?"

"She's testifying against James Thompson, the man she identified to be the murder in a homicide case about three years ago."

"Are you absolu-"

"Yes, Mulder, she checked in with me this morning before she even left her home. She promised me she would call this evening." He saw the now settled look on the agent's face begin to rise back into a state of concern.

"Don't worry I have two Agents keeping an eye on her, she's safe Mulder. Now get back to work."

"Yes sir." He left the room, tail between his legs. Of course she was fine. She must have forgotten to tell him yesterday, they did seem to ignore each other the whole day…but…he rubbed his cheek with his hand. Assuring himself that she was indeed safe from the monster after her he made his way back to his office.

**_Tuesday, December twelfth_**

**_Scully's apartment_**

She had once again awoken to music, this time a softer melody. The light tune of a piano the back drop to a duet consisting of a young male voice paired with an even younger female voice, though they could have not been any younger than twenty. The words of this song appealed to her more today, her mind wandering on the day's tasks. She would testify against a killer of women, girls really, or so the authorities supposed. Only one woman had been found; one woman who could not have been much older than the song's female lead, if she had been older at all.

"_You just can't relax, And you can't rely, On anyone for anything, So you make your complaints, And all everyone's let you down, You just cant, Ever win, Convinced there's a war on,  
It's always everybody versus you, Convinced that your critics are watching, And you've always got something, You've always got something to prove"_

"_So tie the noose,  
And raise the cross,  
The martyr's arrived,  
A desperate plea for sympathy,  
It's all you'll need, _

A laundry list of problems,  
Doesn't make you interesting,  
And never getting help doesn't make you brave,  
Not listening to reason doesn't mean that you have faith,  
Your just cutting off your nose to spite your face"

The words hung fresh in her mind as she showered and dressed. She might put a man to his death today, or she might lead another into a fit of lifelong misery. The man she was fighting for was Adam McQueen. Age twenty seven. His wife had been murdered by a well known killer she had identified as James Thompson and had proved to be Mrs. McQueen's killer. Taking one last look at herself in the mirror she stepped from her bedroom and into a brand new, horrific day. _It's always everybody versus you, Convinced that your critics are watching. _

**_Tuesday, December Twelfth_**

**_E.B. Corr court house_**

**_11:26 AM_**

He knew, as soon as she stepped into the room, that no matter how slow and horribly the trial had been going, the down hill inclination was soon change. Though no breath-taking white wings arose from her back he new her as his angel, his savior. She would retrieve for him justice and the peace of deliverance. She had so many other times. She had discovered his lover's killer, proved him to be just that, and had had him arrested. She had then postponed and prolonged his battle, gathering more evidence against his enemy, the monster who had taken his lover's life. Today, she would send the monster away and send the creature to his demise. She would lift a great weight from his shoulders upon her own. This thought made his heart jump. She indeed was his angel, his guardian.

She had revealed this when she had offered her life for his own, standing at his guard, arms outstretched before her, her small hands harvesting the weight of her gun. Upon the unruffling of a last white feather her imagined wings stood elegantly above her shoulders, splaying before him as a shield. In unison to this a sleek metallic barrel was brought to point at the center of her alabaster brow. No trigger would be pulled. He was brought back to reality when his eyes caught her cool icy blue stare.

As their eyes caught the song seemed to flood through her mind like pressurized water, finally breaking through the dike that had held the waves back. Damnit, the song fit his case perfectly. He was only trying to get at the news, he wanted sympathy and nothing but. And he was out to drag her with him through its entirety. This day would be the longest of a grand maze of many. Settling herself into the old wooden Witness bench that sat to the left of the judge, she raised her right hand as she placed the other on a thick, wide copy of the Bible, the gold leaf letters embedded deeply into the leather.

**_Tuesday December Twelfth_**

**_E.B. Corr court house_**

**_1:52PM_**

He stared at her helplessly, her eyes darting to his in sympathy. She was failing him; clipping her own wings and hanging up her halo as though it were a worn, dirtied hat, hung up for the final time. And she knew she was doing it, knew that she was burying him alive in a horrible realization. He could barely catch a gasp of air as his mind began to pound, his brain seeming to be thrown about from temple to temple in his head. Of the conversation he caught only a few words, a certain group becoming more apparent with each question the defense attorney let seep from his mouth. _"Not enough sufficient evidence." _The words crept to him, over and over, their stale taste staining his tongue and ripping through his ear drums. Suddenly the reality of the situation hit him; the case had been so flimsy, so weak in the way of evidence and now it was crumbling down before him, killing the hopes of justice just as he knew this man had killed his wife. But now his Angel was to blame, it was her fault. She could have searched harder for him, looked into every particle, every bit of damning fiber to nail this man. But she hadn't, she hadn't even tried. His anger flared as she was removed from the stand, the indication that the jury would collect itself and discuss her failure.

Two hours that seemed to pass like years finally ended as the nine men and women who would decide the monsters fate drifted back into the room as though floating. At last as the court settled the jury's leader stood, hands cupped before her stomach and cleared her throat. A sudden hush fell over the court room, all ears tilted to the verdict. The woman's eyes locked onto the judge, her lip quivered with the verbalizations. Not Guilty. His eyes clouded into a daze, his heart and mind not connecting the truth and meaning of the words, the definitions not reaching each other on the pathway of his nervous system. All he could think and see was his angel, a vision of his own strong, steady hands ripping her wings from the gentle curve of her shoulders, the crimson of his relief and her pain staining the once brilliant white a dull and dark pink. Standing, his hands bunched so tightly the white of his knuckles could have matched a sheet of paper, he barely heard the defense attorney's comment. "You fucking bastard."

The attorney turned to him after congratulating his client, the monster. "Excuse me?" he gave him a false look of innocence to add to the sting of the words. He could have strangled him then, atop the attorney's table, his hands tearing at the man's throat.

"You need to watch your words."

"There's no need to do so when one is speaking the truth." the attorney snarled, moving his back once again to McQueen. He would not stand for men with such a presence of filth to demean his wife, to call her a floozy because her body had been found with trace samples of several different men's semen. The attorney seemed to sense his fury and turned around once more to find McQueen's fists clenching at his side. "Take a swing and I'll have _you_ in jail in place of my client's absence."

On this McQueen turned around, storming out of the courtroom and straight through the press that waited outside. That's when he found her, his angel, sitting upon the steps of the courthouse, white wings no longer protruding from her back. It was sick to think of her as his angel now, sick to consider her his savior when really she had damned him. Upon his approach she stood, eyes tracing the marble of the steps atop which she had previously sat. "Mr. McQueen…Adam…I'm so sorry." He heard a slight crack in her voice, though it was not brought on by tears but by nervousness. First fury ran through him then the image of his hands on her throat, his body against her small frame, pushing down on her, squeezing the last breathe from her lungs. Her eyes met his now and he felt an immense flame of anger that her blue eyes could not cool. She would pay. He nodded sadly. "I know it's sudden...but may I take you out to dinner? I mean as a sort of thank you, you know…for trying." He watched as the sympathy in her eyes grew deeper with the conclusion of his sentence, then as a bit of concerned hesitation floated across her gaze. "I would greatly appreciate it."

Nodding in a false note of sadness she agreed. She had known the man he had suspected would not be found guilty, and now he knew as well, though his truth differed from her own.

"May I drive you?" A plan began to unravel in his mind, the clockwork twisting slowly into motion. In the front compartment of the passenger arm rest sat his syringe. He carried it incase of emergencies. The drug calmed him when he had one of his bipolar streaks. If he could get enough into her it could possibly knock her out cold, if not it would render her unable to fight back. She was a small woman and he needed a large dose for his own size; She had to be at least eighty-five pounds lighter than himself. Upon realizing she was preparing to reject his offer he began to insist. He promised to drive her back to her own vehicle and to not seem so gloomy, though it would be hard to do. She denied him the chance at the moment. She would drive herself and follow his vehicle. Thinking quickly, he had to come up with another option to slip into the equation. "Well if you won't grant me the pleasure of driving you can you help me with something? I have a few things I wanted to give to you, you know just articles on the case and such…maybe you could put them into a file or something to help with profiling…? I have a boxful and I'd rather give it to you now instead of forgetting it later."

"Could you bring it to the curb here? It would be simpler for me." her voice caught onto the air as a swift, chilly gust blew past their faces. He watched as her auburn hair swirled up and around her face. _Like blood _He thought as his desires turned the light red to a deep crimson in his mind's eye.

"It's quite crowded here… may I bring it to your vehicle?" She shook her head back and forth lightly. "No, I would feel more comfortable if you brought it to me here." He lifted a single finger suggesting a moment of wait as he took off in a light sprint. She cursed herself for agreeing to dinner. She didn't like the idea of going with him, but she had already agreed, though purely out of sympathy, she knew what it was like to loose someone so close. She also knew it was better to stay distant from him, that he could have a bought of depression. The idea worsened as she remembered rumor of him being diagnosed as bipolar during the duration of the three year case. Suddenly he reappeared in a sleek silver Honda it window rolling down before her. He looked over at her then to the area behind her. "Look, I'm going to turn around in the lot over there." He pointed to an old, emptied parking lot that sat across from the courthouse, littered with trash. "If you would meet me there I could avoid the press, I don't feel like dealing with those assholes right now." He smiled, trying to do anything to separate her from the crowd. She thought about it for a moment. She was armed and could fight back if he tried to pull anything, thought it was unlikely; he had no criminal record, this she new from numerous background checks preformed on all of the murder's known suspects. Sighing she nodded and began the short trek across the street to the lot as he turned the vehicle around. The silver Honda once again pulled up before her, the tinted window again rolling down.

"Its in the backseat, there's a bag on the side opposite to you and the box is on the side in front of you, I'll get the bag." He unbuckled his seat belt, popped the door locks and got out of the car, pocketing the first syringe as he stepped around the front of the Honda. She opened the door, shaky handed and leaned in for the box as he opened the opposite door. One arm reached around one corner of the box the other holding tensely onto the back of the driver's seat. It was his time to move. With one fluid motion he thrust the long-needled syringe into the hand that held onto the driver's seat and injected the sedative with a swift push of his thumb. A small cry escaped his Angel's lips, making his own curl into a Cheshire grin. He felt, in his own hand, the needle tear through her pale skin, through hard muscle and then back through skin and into fabric. It had gone straight through her left hand. He swiftly took up her right into his left as she began to reach from the box to her weapon. Sensing her next move he cautioned her. "I wouldn't pull it out or move my hand if I were you, Angel." She looked perplexed at his words but listened none the less. "The needle could break off inside of your palm."

"Let go of me." She struggled desperately to keep her eyes focused, her vision blurring objects into smudges. She shook her head, clearing her vision, moving her hand to reach for her gun but it was no use. He had been right it would daze her, but this small amount was not enough to knock her out. Letting go of the syringe that stood erect from her hand he reached into the center compartment of the Honda and removed yet another. This time he overturned the hand he grasped and plunged the needle into the blue veins of her wrist. Now she struggled with that arm, the other seeming to stay dead still. The needle slipped from the vein and out of her skin, though it scraped down her wrist and fell to the ground of the vehicle. He let go of her and pulled the bloodied box over to his side then slammed the door shut, running to her side of the car. He caught her slumping body just as her knees gave way. Slowly he pulled the syringe from her hand and removed her suit jacket. Sitting her upright in the back seat he took hold of her fragile wrist in both of his hands. He needed a bandage and fast before she bled to death. Ripping a shoulder pad from her jacket he tapped it around her wrist with some old duct tape he found under the passenger's seat. Smiling with the joy of taking a prize he stared down as he saw the struggle to stay conscious slip from her eyes.

A/N: Tada. More is to come. I hope you enjoyed!-Qs


	3. Angel soft skin

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters; they are not of my mind but of that belonging to Chris Carter.

**Tuesday December Twelfth**

**Unknown Cabin**

**6:27 Pm**

Wilting and pale she curled into herself as though she were a dying flower; the beauty spots of freckles becoming dark on her light skin, the decaying spots that make their homes upon the shriveling petals of passing flowers. Her bright hair stood as the only brilliant sign of life, like a last pollen, its luminous yellow stalks bursting forth as its surroundings died. Soon, he decided he would wither away her hope as he had her appearance. For now, however he had to attend to her wounds. Picking her carefully out of the back seat of the Honda, she lay limp in his arms, her right arm lying against her chest as her left lay sprawled out from her body. That hand was bleeding as well, though not as severely; neither the entry nor exit wounds had been great in size. It didn't even need to be bandaged but he did not know the severity of the wound on her right wrist, thoughts of childhood suicide rumors flying through his head. Some of the most crucial and large veins rested just beyond the thin layers of skin and muscle that covered one's wrist. Approaching a large, old cabin composed of mostly rotting wood he kicked the unlocked door open and carried his Angel into his secret home. It was almost as if they were a newly wed couple, he being the bridegroom carrying his new wife over the threshold of their new home. He couldn't help but to laugh to himself. After he was done with her she would never have that chance.

**Tuesday December Twelfth**

**J Edgar Hoover Building**

**7:45 Pm**

"GODDAMNIT SKINNER!" he pounded the desk hard with his fists, the previous white of his knuckles turning red with the impact. Skinner just stared at him, trying not to let his own worry cross the lines of his face as Mulder rubbed a sore hand through his frazzled brown hair. "Theresa a fucking murder on the loose with his sights set right on Scully!" He looked at his shoes and sighed. "Son of a bitch." He said it more as a "damn it" rather than nicknaming Skinner, though he wish he could have.

"Mulder, I told you, I have two agents on her and neither of them have seen her leave the courthouse and they both report that her car is still in the parking lot."

"Yea? Well apparently your agents aren't worth a shit. The trial got out almost six hours ago! What the hell do you think she's doing in there? Drinking tea?" He looked harshly at Skinner and threw himself down into the chair opposite the director's large desk. Removing his cell phone from his coat pocket and dialed her number, getting nothing but a recording asking him to leave a message. He wanted to throw the phone at something and watch it break into a thousand pieces. He considered the shine of Skinner's balding head as a target but decided against it; his cell phone was the only way for her to get a hold of him. Leaning his head in his hands he heaved a deep sigh, his body dieing to let the tension out of his shoulders, though he remained incapable of doing so. "How many people attended this trial?" He looked up at skinner, his hand sliding lazily down his face.

"Around sixty but there's no telling how many members of the press were there waiting for statements."

"Shit"

Loudly the phone that lay previously silent upon skinner's desk rang, sending both men jumping and Mulder out of his seat. Skinner still made it to the phone before him. His eyes immediately shot to Mulder and he nodded into the phone, his brow furrowing in what seemed to be frustration. "Yes….Thank you" He hung up the receiver, his eyes never meeting Mulder's.

"What? Skinner what..?"

"Mulder…They found Scully's jacket in a ditch covered in mud and it's pretty torn up." He finally looked up at Mulder. "It was found across the street from the courthouse, next to an abandoned parking lot."

The agent looked down at his hands, watching his own knuckles turn white as his fists clenched. "How do you…" his voice cracked as his emotions betrayed him. Composing himself he went on. "How do you know it's her jacket?"

"Her badge was tucked into the pocket and its measurements fit her own."

"Is their any chance we could-"

Skinner cut him off, trying to reduce the build up of hope that would undoubtedly try to fit itself into Mulder's mind. "It's to trashed to find any physical evidence… Mulder…I'm sorry."

He stood up forcefully and quick, the chair he had been sitting in toppling over behind him. "That bastard has her and I'm going to kill him, I'm going to blow his brains out before he can even think to harm her." His fists clenched even harder, his nails biting into the worn flesh of his palms. "Mulder wait!" But it was too late; the agent had already stormed out of his office, the room suddenly eerily quiet.

**Wednesday December thirteenth**

**Unknown cabin**

**12:35 Am**

She awoke to a searing pain, the sting radiating through her left shoulder blade in sharp ripples. In a numbing dance with the sting that afflicted her shoulder a dull ache resounded in both her right wrist and left hand. Lifting her head to asses her surroundings she quickly realized an ache was present there too, but remembered this one was drug induced. Looking down at her hands she was confused as to what position she was in. Soon she realized that she stood, bent over at the hips, chest pressed to the top of a stool. Down below her vision she could see thick off-white bands, each tied around her wrists, a tight red bandage around the right. The bands bound her wrists and hands tightly to the bottom columns of the stool, the bands criss-crossing between leg and support beam. Her ankles too were bound to the stool, just on the other side of the dark wood. Suddenly the realization that she was shirtless registered in her mind as well as the feel of a warm body pressed against her backside and hips. Abruptly she let out a cry as a sharper twinge of pain ripped through her back and into her chest, a soft chuckling arising from behind her as she gasped. The soft laugh sent a stream of images into her thoughts. McQueen asking her to dinner. Crossing the street to meet him in a silver Honda. Her reaching into the back seat, one hand resting upon the driver's side chair. The acute pain of a needle being plunged into her hand. The last image of him wrapping her wrist in duct tape and some sort of puffy fabric. The sudden urge to struggle filled her and she began to thrash around, her back arching as far as it could with the binds and her knees twisting against the wood. Suddenly a hard blow came down upon her head, a streak of red, flowing down her ear and into her eyes. It was her own blood but he hadn't hit her hard enough to cause bleeding, it had been from the blade of the knife whose handle he had used to make the blow.

Steadying her breathing she tried once again to assess her surroundings, this time not moving her head as to keep the room from spinning. She was in a dark room, the light of only one window showing dimly against the blank walls that surrounded her. Like a halo, a circular beam hung around her shoulders and head, the light bouncing off of objects in the room. In the corner sat a thick, exposed spring mattress, next to it was a tiny foot stool and lying opposite that was a large silver bucket. The release of pressure from her hips distracted her from further assessment as she finally remembered she had a voice. "McQueen…?" her lips and tongue felt dry and swollen. One of the binds that held her ankles to the stool began to loosen "McQueen…Adam…Where are we?" she tried to keep a solid level of calm in her voice though it was difficult as she felt the other ankle's bind loosen. He wasn't letting her go; he wouldn't have gone this far if he was just going to turn her loose. Now the presence behind her moved to her left and loosened the band holding her left hand.

"Your hands are sooo soft Angel." She felt a tough, calloused hand move over her bare ribs and shoulder. Her skin crawled. He must have felt her shiver. "They really are. It's such a pity to scar them." Now she felt an intense pressure on her left hand, the nails of his fingers biting into the entry and exit wounds the needle had left from its earlier plunge through her hand. Swinging out of his grip she tried to make out his face in the dark. Suddenly a bright light filled her eyes and sent a heavy pounding into motion between her ears.

Moving the flashlight's beam from her line of vision he smiled as her face contorted against the bright light. The Cheshire of his smile only broadened as she slowly opened one ice blue eye, the other still smashed in a squint. Staring into both of her now open eyes he could see the fight and spirit that his Angel possessed. She would not be broken as easily as he had hoped, though the challenge in her gaze assured him that the journey towards shattering her would be all the more fun. Slipping another syringe of tranquillizers from his pocket he stood over her bent body, her bareback and freshly carved wound luminous in the glow of his flashlight. Gently he swept her red locks away from her neck and ear and through her own blood, the needle piercing her alabaster skin just behind her earlobe. She could barely stay awake as he untied her right hand and gently lifted her, leaning her small body against his own muscular chest as he wrapped her exposed breasts and back in heavy gauze. She fell asleep on the old mattress dreaming of Mulder and winged needles.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! More to come soon. Please tell me what you think.


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